Control
by The Lady Elizabeth
Summary: Sands isn't exactly very nice in bed.


**Control**  
by The Lady Elizabeth

**Disclaimer:** This story is not meant to infringe on the rights of anyone involved in the making or distribution of the movie _Once Upon a Time in Mexico_. It is simply for the enjoyment of my readers and myself.  
**Summary:** Sands isn't exactly very nice in bed.  
**Rating:** _R_ - sexual content, language, and violence.  
**Author's Note:** This is my first slash fic. Please read and review. _This story has been dramatically rewritten from its original form, which was first posted in March 2004. The basic idea and format remain the same. (**8.3.12**)  
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Sex was _always_ violent when Sands was involved.

El supposed he should have learned that by now, but a part of him was still hoping that one of these times Sands would want something softer, something gentler. Just once, he wished that Sands would act more like a lover and less like a desperate man who was even more desperate for control. He sometimes felt himself drifting back to that other time and place; the faint scent of a woman's perfume carrying on the sultry air and the tinkling, high laughter of the girls barely old enough to be out this late gave him the excuse to draw back the heavy curtains he has placed around the image of Carolina. It was in these moments that he admitted to himself that he craved more than just the perfunctory physical satisfaction that came from these times with the dark-haired American.

El looked up from the game of solitaire that he had half-heartedly been playing with a pack of cards that he knew to be missing the Queen of Hearts and the two of spades. Sands was perched on the edge of the hotel room's single bed, his hands twisting knots into a thin, gray string. El arched an eyebrow, glanced towards the window then sighed with a hint of dismay when he realized the string had been cut from the blinds. He wondered if they would be able to leave without the owner realizing that Sands had slowly, but surely, been picking apart the dingy little room.

"What are you doing with that?" he asked, not really expecting to be answered. When Sands only shrugged in return, El returned to his card game, though it would have been impossible not to notice the nervous energy thrumming through Sands' body as his hands sped up.

El pretended to ignore the American, glancing at him only twice during the next ten minutes. Sands, he imagined, would have been staring down at the string in his hands, if he had been able to stare. Instead, with his sunglasses seemingly ridiculously in place in the dark room, his head was upright and his face was directed at the wall in front of him. El rested his hands on the table to watch, several cards still in his right hand, as Sands made a dramatic knot and seemed to finish with a ghost of a smile on his pale lips. At this, El finally frowned and got to his feet. Crossing the room, he stood in front of the former agent, looming over him as Sands sat on the bed.

"Are you planning to kill someone with that?" El asked feeling annoyed. Sands often went off on his own, returning days later, battered and bloodied. El wouldn't mind that the other man had an unquenchable thirst for revenge except that El was often made to tend to the wounds that Sands brought upon himself during these missions. It never did any good to protest, since Sands was an expert in manipulation; besides, El needed him around for his own selfish reasons, so it wouldn't do him any good to allow the American to bleed to death in front of him.

"Sands!" El snapped when he received no answer. Sands' head tilted ever so slightly upwards, as though he were trying to focus his gaze upon El's face, and though El had seen Sands do this a hundred times before, he still shivered a little. Naturally, he was caught off-guard when Sands sprung from his perch on the edge of the bed up onto his feet, one hand powerfully shoving El backwards with a force that El was surprised the smaller man could muster.

El was slammed back against the wall of the dingy hotel room, rendered momentarily breathless by the blow. He opened his mouth to draw in breath, but found it covered by Sands' hot, persistent lips. As always, he noted with a mild satisfaction that Sands had to stand on his toes in order to kiss El if the taller man refused to bend towards him. And, as always, Sands let out a grunt of frustration before not very gently tugging on El's hair so that the taller man had to bend to meet him. Sands pressed his body close against El's, forcing El to allow him to deepen the kiss between the two men.

The mariachi allowed Sands what he thought was his moment of control before pushing back on the former agent's shoulders and forcing Sands to take a step back. They both gasped in air for a few moments, Sands' hands slipping down to rest on El's hips, his lips smiling that faintly devilish smile with promises of things to come. He went to reclaim El's mouth, but El pushed back again, harder this time.

Sands rocked back on his heels, his head cocked, and his smile fading ever so slightly. "What? Would you stop pushing me?"

El resisted the urge to tell Sands that this was enough for tonight. That he was tired and sore from the punches he had taken earlier that day when Sands had made an unflattering comment about a street vendor's wife then tried to insist that it wasn't him because he was blind and therefore couldn't possibly have been able to tell the difference between the woman's face and her rear end. As the argument grew heated, El stepped in, earned a few punches for his troubles, and managed to whisk them away before Sands could cause more trouble.

"_Come on_," Sands wheedled, threading his thumbs into El's belt loops and pulling the mariachi's hips against his own. "I'll be a good boy, I _promise_."

El wanted to say no. He wanted to shove Sands away, just so that he wouldn't be the only one that night feeling sore and frustrated. He wanted to explain to Sands why he was a cosmic pain in the ass. Instead, he responded by pushing Sands back against the room's far wall, as hard as he had been pushed only a minute or so before. The journey wasn't very far.

Still, Sands stumbled in his effort not to trip over his own feet as he was walked backwards hard and fast. He gave a little gasp when his shoulder blades hit the wall and he tilted his head up as though looking up into El's eyes. For a moment, a question began to form on his lips, but then, slowly, the endlessly annoying smirk that El couldn't decide whether he loved or despised appeared on Sands' lips as El pressed him against the wall.

"Want to be on top tonight, huh?" he murmured, those sunglasses, empty of emotion, staring back at him instead of the coffee colored eyes that El had only seen once.

El resisted the urge to force himself down onto Sands' already kiss swollen lips. Instead, just to keep the smaller man guessing, he ghosted his calloused fingertips up from those lips, over high cheekbones, and rested them against Sands' temples. The American stood completely still, his mouth forming a small "O" of surprise. El laced his fingers into thick, dark hair and pressed a gentle, but firm kiss against Sands' jaw, noting with satisfaction as a shiver worked its way through the smaller man's body. Sands turned his head away slightly.

"Are you trying to seduce me?" he asked with a mildly condescending chuckle. "Like your Carolina?"

Had it been anyone besides Sands, El would've put a bullet in him for speaking his wife's name like that, but it _was_ Sands. And, he had gotten used to it by now. For better or for worse.

Sands tried to speak again, but the sounds were muffled when El's hand clamped down over the top of his mouth. El could feel the vibrations of laughter as he pressed his lips to Sands' jaw a second time, but the laughter quickly died out when El nipped at the sensitive skin before placing what would be an especially colorful hickey just above the pulse point. In fact, as El continued to kiss and nip as the skin on Sands' neck and jawline, he could feel the American's pulse rapidly increase and his breath hitch a little in his throat with each mark. El smiled against the smooth skin as he felt Sands' fingers tighten on his belt loops, trying to pull him impossibly close.

Then, just as suddenly as Sands had given in to El, he began to push at El's hips, tilting his head and neck away. For a moment, El tried to pull Sands back towards him, earning a strong shove backwards. He almost stumbled, but managed to keep his footing as he stood, blinking, feeling frustrated with Sands' ever-changing whims and, honestly, vaguely confused. He was beginning to enjoy himself and, if he were any judge of the state of Sands' panting breaths and the growing bulge in his pants, then Sands was as well. El grunted a facsimile of a question and Sands ran a shaking hand through his disheveled hair.

"Bed," Sands practically commanded. El would have protested except that was where he wanted to be, too.

In a matter of minutes, they were both in the bed, mostly naked except for Sands' sunglasses and an odd sock. Sands was straddling El's waist, tracing his fingers down El's chest as he kissed him breathlessly. In turn, El grasped the American's upper arms tightly enough to bruise, keeping him in place until they were both dizzy from kissing. Every so often Sands dug his short-cut fingernails into the scar-lined skin below him, eliciting a gasp from the man under him and giving himself a moment to snatch a quick breath of air.

Abruptly, Sands scooted down El's body to graze his fingertips along the most sensitive part of El's body.

"_Mi Dios_," El hissed through his teeth, tightening his grip on Sands' arms. The former agent chuckled lightly as he shook his shoulders, signaling for El to let go. El obliged, though he didn't know why. It was better to keep a firm grip on Sands when he had any look of mischief on his face. El remembered that lesson as Sands gripped him hard and gave him several rough tugs before letting go with another of his schoolboy laughs.

_I ought to wipe that damn grin off his face_, El thought after he managed to regain enough composure to think again.

"Liked that, then? Like being at my mercy? Under _my_ control?" Sands asked, his voice sweet. Some of his dark hair had tumbled down onto his forehead and against his cheeks, making him look impish and deceptively innocent. "If I do it _again_…"

This time, El couldn't keep himself from retaliating. He grabbed the smaller man by the shoulders, digging his strong fingers into the tanned skin, and rolled his heavier weight over so that Sands' expression of surprise was still in place by the time El was on top of him. The American's head bumped against the mattress, the pillow having long been discarded to the floor, and his sunglasses bounced ever so slightly against his cheeks and forehead as he hit. El used the moment of surprise to wrestle his legs out from between Sands' and used them to pin Sands' thighs to the bed. Sands didn't struggle once as El leaned down with a chuckle so that his lips were grazing the former agent's ear.

"I suppose now _you're_ at _my_ mercy, Agent Sands," he told the American, whose face had faded from surprise into a mask of expressionlessness. El brushed the hair away from Sands' face, breathing a trail of hot, warm air from his ear to his shoulder blade. He, of course, could not see the hard set of Sands' lips, despite the rapid rise and fall of his thin chest. "Wonder what I'll make you do…"

El returned to Sands' mouth, cupping the smaller man's face with his hands as he did so. Sands stiffened below him, not responding to El's kiss. El swept one of his hands behind Sands' head, forcing Sands' head to tilt up and his mouth to open slightly. Using that opportunity to deepen the kiss, El soon noticed that Sands was lying stiffly beneath him. El pulled back slightly, his eyes searching for a clue to as what was wrong. The only hint of trouble he found was the lack of color in Sands' face and the feel of quivering muscles of a man well trained in hunting down and killing anyone who may have wronged him. As well as a lot of completely random and innocent people.

He supposed it wasn't that big of a surprise when Sands lashed out with a white-knuckled, clenched fist, striking El in the cheekbone. Stars burst into his vision as El scrambled to ward off the furious punches that were raining around him. As he tried to pull himself away from Sands, El received another hit to the temple. Rendered off-balanced, El grabbed onto Sands' shoulder for balance, only to drag Sands along with him and send them both sprawling to the floor. Sands landed roughly on top of El, knocking the breath of out of the Mexican.

"_Fuck you_," Sands snarled softly, his voice so cold that it actually felt out of place to El on such a muggy summer's night. El could feel Sands' body shaking with what he could only assume was fury. "Fuck you _very_ much."

El bit back a cry of pain when Sands smashed his hand down over El's mouth and forced his knee down between El's legs. The mariachi tried to accommodate for the position, shifting his weight, but Sands would have none of it. Bringing his leg up a little harder than necessary to simply create a pleasurable friction, Sands softly smiled as he felt El grunt in pain against his palm. El stilled for a moment, watching Sands thoughtfully, before bucking his hips against the smaller man to try and throw him off. Sands' hand reached out and began to fumble over the dirty, threadbare rug in the hotel room as they struggled before suddenly El was aware of something thin and tight cutting into the skin of his neck. He stopped fighting against Sands and realized that it was the little string of knots that Sands had been playing with earlier. Holding it in both hands, chest heaving, Sands swallowed.

"We're going to do what _I_ say now, _savvy_?" he hissed.

When Sands entered him, El closed his eyes tightly and reminded himself that this was nothing unexpected. This was the way things always went whenever he engaged Sands sexually. It didn't matter what they did or who eventually ended up on top, it was always violent and El always walked, or limped, away with regrets. He gripped the grubby sheets of the hotel's bed tightly and arched his back as Sands, as he always did, managed to bring him to a place of pleasure that made him forget all the misgivings he had about this. He could hear Sands gasping above him and could feel himself being brought to the brink, but there was always that one thing missing…

"_Mine_," Sands panted, leaning down close to El's ear. El could feel the slick of sweat on Sands' chest slide over his own skin and shuddered. Sands grew still, though El knew that he hadn't finished yet. El hesitantly rested his rough-skinned hands on the silky skin on Sands' hips.

"What?" he asked softly. Sands released the string he was holding and cradled El's face in his hands, tilting his head as if struggling to look into El's eyes.

"You are." Sands thrust sharply into El before capturing the mariachi's lips with his own. El felt himself fully pushed over the edge. He was only faintly aware of Sands' own climax and of the smaller man's weight slumping down upon his own. He was only faintly aware of trying to pull Sands into his arms as they recovered and of Sands struggling to pull himself into a sitting position, leaning against the bed.

As it was with other times that they had sex, Sands was silent afterwards. _I don't make love, El. I screw, I fuck, whatever else you want to call it, but it's definitely __**not**__ love. _ He caught his breath, stood up, and retreated to the other side of the room to begin dressing. El took that as his clue to also clothe himself. He took the opportunity to steal glances at Sands, though he knew, in the back of his mind, that he owed the other man some modicum of privacy at the moment.

Sands hurried into his pants as though he couldn't get into them fast enough. His shirt, though only a battered t-shirt, took considerably more time since Sands needed time to find the tag and determine if it was inside-out or not, and that he had put it on the right way around. After being punched in the face the first time, El learned not to try and help Sands get dressed. Instead, he let the American fumble and curse his way through his dressing. As Sands worked on getting his shirt right today, though, he was completely silent and his hands shook. El took a step forward to help, but Sands immediately yanked the t-shirt on over his head when the first footstep hit the floor.

Fully clothed, Sands turned to El, his mouth set in a peculiar expression that told El that Sands wasn't sure whether to smile or to sob. He combed his hair back from his face with his fingers, and then shrugged.

"I have to go out," he stated simply, then turned and left the room.

El sat on the bed, a shiver working its way up his spine. He rubbed his arms, trying to warm himself even though the sweat from their activities was still cooling on his skin.


End file.
